Happily Ever After
by Christine Ambrosia
Summary: All Lukas wanted was to protect his brother Emil from the wrath of war and stay alive. When a Danish soldier saves their lives, Lukas is perfectly fine with never seeing him again. What is he to do when the soldier saunters back into his life, steals his heart, and may bring the destruction of all Lukas ever hoped to protect?
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Gunshots

A cold, dry wind swept across the trash-ridden landscape, chilling two boys who were currently trekking their way across it. Light jackets full of holes and scarves barely being held together by colour-lacking threads are wrapped around them in futile attempts to hold on to the smallest bit of warmth, failing in a miserable fashion, leaving them to wonder if they precious money they had spent on the garments had truly been worth it.

The Third World War had erupted years ago, plunging the world into a mess of chaos, opinions, rights and beliefs. For reasons unknown to most of Europe, America had taken military action against Canada. Russia had stepped in to aid the fellow northern country, and America had asked the United Kingdom for assistance, and more countries slowly got dragged in from there. A few countries like Switzerland and Spain and parts of Asia were currently neutral, but were leaning towards the sides they believed was right.

There were the two sides; The Northern Powers and the Southern Allied Forces.

The Northern Powers consisted of Canada, Russia, Scandinavia, and the Baltics, receiving occasional help from Belarus, Ukraine, and Poland.

The Southern Allied Powers were made up of the United States, the United Kingdom, France, Italy, Germany, most of Spain, and just about any other nation they could get their hands on.

One of the boys, clearly younger by his features, stopped and swiveled his head around as though trying to find something- perhaps someone- amongst the barren wasteland with violet eyes hiding minimal amounts of panic, eyes searing marks on to the horizon.

"I feel like we're being watched," He shuddered, tugging the tattered scarf slung around his neck over his frozen lips, eyes once more scanning the distance. The other, Lukas, stopped as well to gaze back over his shoulder, a small sigh escaping his form as he beckoned for the younger male to hurry up.

"You say that every time we leave the house, Emil." Emil opened his mouth as though about to protest, but slammed his mouth back into a thin line and jogged slightly, opting instead to catch up to his step-brother, not entirely open to the idea of being left alone outside the designated safe zones.

The pair continued on now in silence, Lukas carefully glancing at Emil out of the corner of his dull, blue eyes before fixating himself once again on their destination which was slowly growing more visible, the land beginning to slope beneath their feet, allowing their eyes to rest on what used to be a beautiful valley.

The only thing that the valley could now be described as was a garbage pit, filled with multiple piles of rubbish that stretched up to the greenish-grey sky, made almost entirely out of scraps that came from the aftermath of battles, old broken-down weapons, scrap metal, sometimes bits of provisions or things that could be melted down and turned into something useful. The most effective way to make money or collect food for a family was foraging. The best place for foraging? Outside the designated zones, where death would always be just one measly step away,

Earth sloping further, Lukas and Emil slid down the hill, across the semi-frozen ground, coming carefully to a stop at the bottom, Emil stumbling and Lukas righting him quickly. Sending each other quick looks, they separated, each heading for their own pile, starting to dig in hopes of finding the most valuable pieces to sell in the black market of Oslo.

::::::

Hours had passed, Lukas' arms growing tired from the constant lifting of heavy objects and scratched from the pieces of metal and shrapnel, shallow, stinging red cuts gracing his forearms where the jacket sleeves had been rolled up. The satchel at his side was bulging, differing kinds of metal poking from the bag along with the rare pieces of plastic that he'd found hidden deep in the center of the pile, and prayed the new cut on his temple had been worth it.

As he crammed a small pistol from the heap, placing it delicately in his bag in case there were still a few bullets left inside, he leapt from the pile and strode around the piles, searching for the familiar form of his brother, a noise of relief escaping him as he spotted the white hair.

"Emil," He called, causing the violet-eyed male to gasp and whirl around nearly loose his footing. "Come down, it's getting dark, we need to head home." Emil nodded, jumping from the pile, landing a metre or so away from his brother. Quickly they joined the other's side, heading back to the slope of the hill, about to head back up when the sound of voices reached them. Recognizing the language, Lukas shoved Emil backwards, sitting him down at the base of a pile and holding him close, he whispered quietly.

"British or American soldiers," He choked. Emil began to shake, turning further into his brother's embrace, turning his face into the other male's chest. Lukas stroked the white locks soothingly, trying to understand what the voices were saying, as he knew a very small amount of English. Before he could determine anything, a new voice with a familiar and easier to understand language broke in.

Lukas let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Danish troops.

Now waiting, listening closely to the thickly accented Danish voices, he waited on bated breath, trying to choose their best option. They couldn't run, they'd be seen and shot by the English-speaking troops, even if they could make it to the cover of the Danish soldiers. Staying in the pit wasn't safe either, there was still the chance of being shot. They were practically sitting ducks.

Lukas continued to go over the options or think of a new way out, snapped out of his thoughts by the harsh sound of gunshots screaming through the air, the muted thumps of the soldiers from both sides _landing in the pit_. Emil whimpered and Lukas shushed him, heart hammering in his chest, hoping that even over the din of the bullets no one would hear them.

And so they sat, with no way to tell the time, the sky growing steadily darker until there was barely a shred of light through the cloud covering the sky. Lukas' legs had grown numb, Emil had stopped crying quite a while ago, sitting in their own silence as they waited for one to smother the fighting. As though a higher power had answered or taken mercy on the brothers, the shots stopped, the world falling to a cold, eerie sense of momentary quiet.

Allowing his thrumming pulse to stop drumming in his ears and veins, Lukas tried to look around the trash hiding them from sight, wanting to get Emil and himself out of the aftermath as soon as possible. What he did not expect, was the tall, red-clad, blond haired man to be staring at them in surprise. Lukas almost panicked, but did not as he recognized the Danish military uniform. The Dane smiled widely, speaking in rapid Danish. Mustering all the politeness he could after the ordeal, he asked;

"Do you speak Norwegian?" The man nodded, once more prattling on but now in slower Norwegian, extending a hand to Lukas, who grimaced at the red deeper than that of the uniform he wore staining his palm. Standing without assistance proved quite troublesome, pins and needles shooting up his legs as he lifted Emil from the ground with him. Stumbling a little, the Dane caught and steadied him, causing Lukas' pale cheeks to flush with heat.

Placing his best stony expression on his features, Lukas glared at the man agitatedly, pushing away from him and drawing Emil in close. The younger had said nothing since the whole thing started, worry beginning to poke at Lukas' mind as he muttered a few things in Icelandic, hoping hearing his native tongue would comfort Emil.

"Thank you for your help," Lukas growled, cutting the still talking man off. "We'll be heading home now." The Dane looked a little puzzled, before his face lit up softly with what could only be described as pity, Lukas' hackles rising at the look. The man continued on completely unfazed.

"Hey now, you just went through a traumatic event. Let me drive you home, I've got a jeep."

Lukas wanted to slap that goofy smile right off the Dane's face. He wanted to snap that the dropping of Nora had been a traumatic event, being caught in some measly crossfire was absolutely nothing compared to the fear and terror of that day. But the still present shivers wracking Emil's body made him agree.

"Fine," Lukas muttered. "Thank you." The Danish man's eyes shone, he placed a hand on Lukas' shoulder, steering Lukas and Emil towards the rest of the troops, speaking something again in quick Danish. The heat that had just faded from Lukas' cheeks returned full-force and the beating of his heart became fluttery.

Lukas puzzled over these strange new sensations, only being snapped from them when he was herded into the back of a jeep across from the Dane, now stuck under his intense blue gaze for the duration of the ride.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Sick

The jeep ride home had been an entirely awkward affair for Lukas. Shortly after loading into the back of the vehicle, Emil had fallen asleep, leaving Lukas to fend for himself against the annoyance that was the Danish man. Silence hung over the three, something the Norwegian was quite happy for, until the enthusiastic voice broke it like a wave in a calm sea.

"My name is Matthias, Matthias Kohler." Lukas glared at Matthias, only to be pinned once again by his beautiful, piercing blue eyes. Everything about the Dane screamed friendly and innocent, but in times like they were stuck in, giving one's name could be their downfall.

"I'm Lukas Bondevik. This is Emil Steilsson." He was surprised at himself as the names flew easily from his lips. No one in Oslo even knew their names, despite the fact that Emil and himself had been some of the best traders in the market since after Nora.

Matthias raised a dark, thick eyebrow, eyes darting between the two boys sitting across from him. "So you aren't brothers, then?" Lukas shook his head.

"Step-brothers. Emil won't admit it if you ask him though." Dull blue eyes narrowed and Lukas clamped his lips shut. He barely spoke to anyone unless completely necessary, and even when speaking with his brother the things he said were guarded, thought over before being said. So why did all these things spill from him so easily, like he wasn't talking to a mysterious stranger he'd met in a garbage dump? It made no sense.

As the ride continued, Matthias kept trying to start a conversation, Lukas quickly shutting down each of his attempt until the man finally quieted, throwing a look at the Norwegian that could only be described as that of a kicked puppy. It made Lukas' stomach churn and his heart flutter.

When they arrived at the border of Oslo, Lukas was swift to exit the jeep with his semi-awake brother in tow, yanking him in the direction of their home, saying a cold goodbye and thank you to Matthias before vanishing behind messes of crumbling buildings.

"Luka," Emil said, voice heavy with sleep. "Why'd we go here? Th' house is th' other way…" Lukas was peering from behind their makeshift blockade, waiting until the jeep left and the rumbling of its noisy engine could barely be heard.

"I know," Lukas finally breathed, "I just didn't want him to know that." And headed off before nosy little Emil could ask more questions.

::::::

Three hours had passed since their return to their home. Lukas had grabbed Emil's satchel and scurried to his workroom, shutting the door tight and lighting a candle. For reasons he could not comprehend, the only thing he found his thoughts focusing on was Matthias' smile, his eyes, his golden hair that shone and stuck out in all directions like he'd just woken up.

Hoping to get those strange unwanted thoughts out of his mind, Lukas had set to work sorting the finds from earlier that day so they could be toted to the market and easily sold or traded. The table he sat at was littered with different kinds of metal, pieces of plastic, broken weapons and still functioning ones, bits of clothing or fabric.

But as his mind wandered from his work, Lukas barely noticed that he was placing fabric with the plastic and weapons with the metal. He might've continued on in this way if not for the knock that snapped him from his reverie. Emil instantly pushed his way in, balancing a wooden tray on his palm, two pieces of bread and cups of foggy water resting on it.

Emil shuffled over, placing the food in from of the other man, and fixing him with a slightly concerned and stern gaze. "You should eat something." Lukas hummed, not really answering, but reached for the bread all the same. It was polished off in seconds. He reached for the water next, downing half the glass before staring into its murky contents disdainfully.

"I miss coffee." Emil nodded, taking another small nibble of his bread, looking at it with longing. Elbowing Lukas in the ribs he muttered;

"I miss licorice." Lukas almost laughed, cracking a miniscule smiled and mumbling a small 'yeah' under his breath. The candle on the worktable flickered a bit, the flame almost eating up the last of the wick. The blond glanced at a wooden box in the corner. They'd have to pick up more candles at the market.

"I miss Tino," Emil said suddenly, sitting up straight, staring down into his lap, fingers twiddling. Lukas didn't say anything at first, memories of the charmingly cute Fin flashing into his mind, laughing brightly, smiling, keeping spirits up. Lukas cleared his throat.

"… He sends us letters all the time." The white-haired boy shook his head, grasping at his water cup. He reached a white-gloved hand into the pocket of his jacket, drawing out a yellowed envelope with red droplets splattering the corner. Worry flashed in Emil's eyes.

"We used to get letters from him almost every day. Now they barely come once a week. This one dates back two weeks ago, and there aren't any new ones." Lukas tilted his head, reading the date scribbled hastily across the top in messy Norwegian, and he had to smile, remembering the days Tino had tried, emphasis on _tried_, to learn how to write in Norwegian. That day had ended with Tino pouting and covered with ink.

"I'm sure he's fine. Besides, in that letter, didn't he mention some Swedish soldier, Berwald Oxen-something?" Lukas blinked at the envelope. "He's fine, I just know it."

"But what if he's not?" Emil exploded. "What if he just vanishes like mom, or like your dad? Then what do we do?" The younger waited patiently for an answer, hoping to be reassured, as Lukas always did so.

Lukas hesitated. "I… Don't know." The defeated look on Emil's face made him scramble to say something else. "But you shouldn't think like that, think about the 'what-ifs.' Just wait and see the card life deals to you." The pair sat in silence after that, Emil starting to re-sort the piles while shooting Lukas curious looks every now and then.

Once the piles were neat, as they should be, Emil stood, heading for the door. He spared one more glance over his shoulder before opening it.

"You are alright after today, right?" He asked uncertainly. "You've been kind of… weird since we got back." Lukas was instantly abashed with forgotten thoughts of Matthias, going over the scenes of the day once more, heat rising to his face. "Lukas?" Dull eyes met violet briefly.

"I think I might be sick." He replied, leaning his elbows on the table. "If I'm still not well tomorrow, I'll pick something up from the market." He turned to the Icelander. "What about you? You were crying a lot…"

"Of course I'm alright! I'm not some little kid anymore, jeez!" And with that, Emil swept from the room, yelling in annoyance about ages and being 'mature.' Lukas remained sitting at the work table, staring impassively at the door that hadn't been closed in the younger's haste.

Sighing softly, Lukas blew out the candle, leaving himself to sit in the late night darkness of the workroom.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Black Market

Lukas guided himself cautiously around the bustling people of the market. The market was sheltered in an old indoor ice-rink, half the roof having been blown away a long time ago. Small tables and booths were set up on what used to be the rink, people with smaller things to trade and sell walking through the bleachers and calling out items and prices.

Emil was pressed close to his side. Neither of them really enjoyed large crowds, or all the noise they caused.

The market was technically illegal, thus becoming known as the 'Blackened Market' or just the black market for short. Any and all types of things could be found there. Animal hides, organs, weapons, stolen things from far-off countries that could no longer reach Norway over land or sea or sky. No one paid with money, of course, the coins and paper notes meaning nothing to anyone. Only trading, the only way to get a hold on what was needed to survive.

As they continued on across the floor of the rink, Emil stopped to stare at one collapsible table, features twisting with curiosity and disgust. Lukas took note of the second the presence at his side left, looking at the jars of the table the younger seemed to be enamoured with. Lukas gagged.

"What kind of organs are those?" Emil questioned softly, apparently not softly enough, as the greasy woman managing the table turned to him with astonishing sharpness, eyeing him and the bag slung over his shoulder.

"Human. But they can be whatever kind o' organs ya want, if you'll trade me some of that shiny metal there," The colour drained from Emil's face until it was the same shade as his hair, Lukas lunging in and grasping his wrist, dragging him away from the woman, who watched them until her twitchy yellow eyes could no longer see them through the throngs of people.

Lukas kept his hold firm, moving them quickly towards the one small tent on the opposite side of the rink floor, the one place they ever went in the black market. The multi-colour tent came into view, the faded colours looking more like whites and greys and blacks with every visit. The duo swept the flaps aside, hustling in, smell of wine overpowering them almost instantly.

As per the usual, three very different looking men sat on low stools, one sipping at an entire bottle of wine, the other two bantering softly about locations. Lukas tapped his foot twice, gaining the men's attention, and they smiled brightly.

"Ah welcome, mi amigos. I thought we had missed you this time around!" Antonio chirped, standing up with outstretched arms. "What have you got to trade us today?" Lukas handed his satchel, nudging Emil lightly, hinting for him to pass his bag to the paler man behind Antonio.

"You and Francis picked up a new lackey, I see," Lukas commented dryly, watching as the assorted piles were placed neatly on a rug spread across the floor. The pale man's lips twisted into a wry grin, admiring the layout of objects. Antonio nodded, giving him a hearty slap on the back.

"Yes. This is Gilbert, from Germany," Gilbert looked up, red eyes glinting with a hint of mischief that practically yelled irresponsible.

"Excuse you, I'm Prussian. _Prussian_." Antonio and Francis both nodded, humoring him, Antonio kneeling down to search the piles, Francis taking a long swig from his wine bottle. A quiet settled over them, and through the tent walls there was little sound, it felt almost like the world outside wasn't tearing itself apart for a reason unbeknownst to nearly all of Europe and Asia.

Antonio stood, walking over to a pile of crates, pulling out several candles, canteens, and two blankets, dividing them up evenly into each brother's bag. Gilbert whistled, holding up the bits of plastic to the small lantern that lit the tent's interior, admiring the way the light shone through them.

"Where the hell did you manage to find plastic?" Lukas was silent, accepting the bags from Antonio with a polite nod of thanks.

"We'll be back here in two weeks," Francis declared, words just on the edge of slurring together as he spoke, and Lukas glanced at Antonio for conformation. The Spaniard nodded, cinnamon locks bobbing with the motion. A final look at the trio, and Lukas ushered himself and Emil out of the tent, away from the black market.

::::::

The second they stepped out of the rink entrance, loud shouting in Danish and Norwegian caught Lukas' attention. Facing the direction of the commotion, he strained his ears to hear what was being said. Over the shouting of what sounded like pleased civilians, he could make out the words 'soldiers', 'temporary homes', and 'weekly care package'.

Before any more information could be heard, an arm slung easily around his neck and a familiarly irritating voice said loudly in his ear;

"Hiya, Lukas!" The Norwegian nearly leapt out of his skin, working hard to act impassive and keep his expression neutral. Glaring upwards, sure enough, he was met with the boisterous grin and bright blue eyes.

"Matthias." Lukas replied, catching the strange look from Emil, who had been asleep during the entirety of the older male's exchange in the jeep. "Hey, guess what? My squad is being housed by people in Oslo for the next little while. I can stay with you!" Lukas was about to object harshly, when he remembered that each housing family would receive a care package. That meant real food and more than just two canteens of clean water. Still, it wasn't quite enough for him to allow the noisy mister Kohler to stay in his residence.

"Lieutenant Kohler!" A female voice barked. A woman in a red uniform adorned with several medals strode up to them, eyes flickering over the two Norwegian boys before landing on Matthias. Her eyes were cold, but a fleck of warmth entered them upon looking at Matthias.

"General," He responded, nodding his head slightly in a show of respect.

"You've found a family willing to house you? I'm surprised." Her eyes wandered to Lukas. "You must be crazy to take him on." She huffed in brief approval, planting one hand on her hip and using the other to ruffle Matthias' hair fondly. "Take good care of my son, hear me?" She stalked off without another word.

Emil's eyes widened and he glanced at Matthias. "Your mom is a _General_?" Matthias nodded proudly, staring after her retreating form. They lapsed into silence, Lukas sighing as loudly as he could to grab the other male's attentions, beckoning them to follow as he began to walk.

"Let's go. We still need to pick up some bread for tonight." He sniffed in Matthias' direction. "And we'll have to get extra." A guilty look washed across the Dane's face, but Lukas quickly waved him off, stepping down the road that led to the bakery, avoiding gigantic holes in the concrete as he stormed off.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four: Baker's bread

Lukas grumbled the entire way towards the bakery, if that was even what it could be called. A run-down of what used to be a convenience store, very little amounts of bread on the shelves, wrapped messily in stained pieces of cloth and newspaper. The store itself smelled pleasant, better than anywhere else in the city, many people went to just stand inside and savour the scent.

Shoving through the miniscule crowds, Lukas moved to the till, planting a hand on the counter to steady himself as he got knocked aside. His eyes met with the young man's who was running the register, apology carried in his eyes.

"What can I get for you today, Sir?" The man shouted over the din, leaning across the counter.

"Three loaves, please." Lukas didn't raise his voice at all, the sharp, cold edge easily working its way through the clamour of noise. The man reached under the counter, snatching three loaves and pressing them into Lukas' hands, who pushed them quickly into his satchel. More than a few people were willing to steal.

Lukas handed the man scraps of cloth that had been pushed into his jacket pocket, who eagerly accepted them, placing them inside a box to his left as though they were something precious. Which, technically, they were. Nodding politely, Lukas hustled out of the crowds and the door, breaking into the silence of the street one again.

Emil and Matthias were chatting, leaning on the side of the building. Emil's voice was quiet, subdued, trying to avoid any attention from any onlooker or passerby. Matthias' voice was like an explosion in comparison, strong and echoing in the abandoned buildings. Emil cut himself off mid-sentence upon seeing Lukas, sharply elbowing the taller male next to him the ribs, effectively silencing him.

Stalking past, Lukas muttered sharply. "You shouldn't be so loud. You'll attract attention." Emil's eyes became downcast, Matthias blinking like a confused dog. "And don't tell anyone your name, understand?" The Dane blinked obediently, Lukas sighing in frustration, knowing he did not understand at all. Their eyes met briefly, Lukas snapping his head around, heart becoming fluttery, trying to leap from the cavity in his chest.

"Come on," he said, grabbing Emil's wrist and pulling him along, Matthias clomping along behind them. After being bathed in the scent of baked goods, the rancid stench of the city hit Lukas like a slap in the face. The trash grew its own smell, the chemicals in the air mingling with it softly and creating a pungent smell.

Stepping around debris, the brothers guided Matthias to their home. The sight obviously came as a bit of a shock to the Dane, who stared at it, rubbed his eyes, and stared at it again.

The house was a pale yellow colour, cracks running through the outer walls, broken windows covered with thick paper or fabric. The front door was barely hanging onto its hinges, the front porch nothing more than a mess of concrete and dust.

"Hurry up, Matthias," Lukas called exasperatedly, pulling the front door open a little too roughly, old wood screeching in protest at the harsh movement. The three men filed neatly inside, Lukas firmly closing the door and locking it once again, eyes lingering on the tarnished brass lock.

Matthias peeked in every room they passed by. There was small living room with two wicker chairs and a table, a small rug collecting dust on the floor. A grunt drew his attention, Lukas staring him down before walking into another room. Matthias took a few steps, noticing a door at the end of a long, dark hallway.

It was completely boarded up, looking as though it hadn't been touched in ages. Part of Matthias wanted to run away from it, never allow the sinister looking door to cross his mind again. Another part, the more curious, dominant part, urged him forward to feel the wood.

"Matthias?" Lukas' voice spurred him instead to the kitchen, sparing one last glance at the forsaken door.


End file.
